


Three Halves and a Whole

by 2x2verse (agent_florida), Mystical



Series: The Big Banging Theory [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angry Sex, Blowjobs, Bondage, Fingerfucking, M/M, closeted!john, vibe-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical/pseuds/Mystical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he doesn't understand, he doesn't understand your aching need and he just - he just goes and throws around the phrase 'no homo' like it's going out of fashion and you wonder who he's trying to fool.<br/>(because you've jerked him off and sucked his dick and fucked him and he fucked you and you're not just some pretty little experiment, some exception to the rule and he loves you, he loves you he does and he's not fucking seeing it)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Halves and a Whole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agent_florida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/gifts).



"I'm not gay," he says again.

That phrase is really starting to grate on your nerves.

"Sure," you say, eyes fixed on the TV. You're not really watching the shitty action flick, but it's safer than the alternative, safer than looking at _him_ because it'll ruin the modicum of control you've managed to maintain.

(ten years ten years you've been putting up with this shit for ten years)

Even so, you feel him shift beside you, and this, this is bullshit, you know him so well that you know what he's doing without even having to look at him. And it has to be the way he moves, has to be the way he picks at his jeans and looks at you, has to be the way he keeps fucking denying and denying and _denying_ it because you don't stop there. "Nothing gay about fucking at least two dudes up the ass, who knows what else you did while you were drunk or away or some shit." Pause. "Or who else you did."

He's frowning and every cell in your body is screaming _error, error, back the fuck up, you're making a huge mistake,_ but maybe it's because it's late or maybe it's because you're stuffed full of soda and popcorn or maybe it's because you're tired, so fucking tired of constantly backing away and giving him space and doing everything on _his_ terms because you stay still, shock-still as he leans over and – and fucking places his head on your shoulder, even now he can't stop touching you. "No, really," he says, and his voice is right next to your ear and he might've well screamed _convince me, change me, tell me I'm wrong._ "I'm not-"

"Sure," cutting him off. "Because it was just a fluke, right? Every time you came to me in the middle of the night. Just a fluke. Every time you pressed me against the couch during some shitty action movie. Just a fluke. Every time I've sucked you off in the shower. Just a fluke. Every single fucking time you made me scream your name while you fucked me. Just a _fucking_ fluke."

"Dave-" and you see past every little defense mechanism of his, can get into his head better than he can because you see it before he does, see him backpedaling, trying to get out of this conversation because he knows it's futile, knows it's fruitless, knows that you're going to win.

You raise your voice. "I don't know what the fuck you're smoking but you definitely enjoyed fucking bro. Twice. While sober. And how many times have you had your way with me already?" You tip your shades back into your hair, turn to stare at him and he's not looking at you, gazing at the TV with furrowed brows that scream 'I don't want to talk about this'. "I mean, fuck, it's okay if it's just you, I get it, you can take forever to come to terms with it, but you can't keep jerking _me_ around, man."

Before you would've winced, withdrawn, dropped the topic because you've revealed too much too soon too fast but this is _ridiculous_ and you've never talked about it and you've been roommates since college, been making out with him before then and _you've never talked about it_ , never once mentioned it to each other. Let him see. Let him know that you're not a chickenshit, that you're willing to admit it, that you _know_ and you fucking acknowledge your attraction to something other than vaginas while he sits there and denies and denies and denies and kills himself more every time he kisses you, every time he fucks you. "I'm not," he says, lip sticking out in that cute fucking pout and you don't know if he's saying that about jerking you around or liking guys. You don't think he knows, either. Maybe both. Maybe none.

You throw your shades on the coffee table and slide into his lap, straddling him and sucking that pout right into your mouth. He struggles for a moment before giving in and he can't fucking resist you, he can't, you wonder who he's trying to fool. And even through the taste of popcorn and soda he tastes so _good_ and you hungrily press forward, wanting more, more more more and his arms come up, nails digging into your shoulder blades and he

he opens up so easily to you and he's so slick and warm and he tastes so _right._

You take his glasses with you when you pull back, throwing it at your shades and tug his arms and almost trip over the coffee table when he rises easier than you expected. Ignoring the pain in your shins, you tighten your grip and start walking.

"Bedroom," you say in response to his unspoken question and you're glad he follows you without question because you weren't looking forward to dragging him there.

(but you will, fuck you will, your hairless twink ass will haul his fucking bear-bodybuilder body up and literally carry him there if you have to because you're sick of this shit and you swear to god you will solve this issue tonight)

You kick the door close and that seems to bring him back to reality. "Dave, I can't, I mean, I'm not-" he starts before you press him against the wall and kiss him again, kiss him over and over and over again.

"Shut up," you say. "Shut up, shut up, shut up," and you kiss him, and keep kissing him as you guide him to the bed, press him into the mattress and he's hard already and you've barely done anything and you want to shake him, want to shove his own boner into his face because _this is what I fucking do to you, dude, look at it, look at me, you love this and you're still lying to yourself._

Your hands fumble with the zipper of his jeans and he reaches down, grabs your wrists with no real force behind them but it's enough to make you stop. "Dave," he pants, and you see the rosy flush on his cheeks. "Dave, stop, dude."

You shake your hands free and glare at him. "Listen." You squeeze him through his pants. "You like dick and I'm going to prove it to you right now by fucking you until you're screaming papa so loud we'll get noise complaints from three floors below us."

He flushes darker and you finally get his zipper down, get his button through the loop and you yank his pants and boxers down until it bunches at his knees. His cock practically jumps at you, even though it's not particularly hard but that'll change, you'll make sure of it. You sink down, licking him from base to tip, base to tip, mouthing at hot skin and sucking it into your mouth until he's hard as steel. "No one else makes you feel this way," you mutter, and suck the head into your mouth.

He groans, long and low, he can't help it, he's a screamer, and you suck more of him down, pushing his hips down with your hands. "Dave," he says. "Dave, you little faggot," and his voice is darker and he always gets more aggressive in these types of situations and you love it, love it love it love it _need it._ "You love me, don't you?"

Give the man a medal. You pull off, replacing your mouth with your hand and lean over, glaring at him with your unsheathed eyes. "So what if I do." You're speaking against his lips, almost kissing him but not quite.

He glares back, jaws set in a stubborn line and reaches over, hands slipping down your back, over your ass and toward the front of your jeans and no. No, you're not having any of that today. You pull his hands away and pin them above his head and he fucking struggles, of course he does, he can't give in easily, can't he.

"Will you just!" In terms of sheer mangrit, he's got you beat by a mile but you're wiry and fast and a coiled spring whereas he's a blunt brick, and you easily move so you're straddling him, pressing against his erection. His grip slackens for a moment but a moment is enough for you to hold both his hands with one of yours and push his shirt up with the other, popping more than a few buttons and tying it around the headboard, around his wrists and you're fast, fingers working speedily at a tight knot that only you can undo.

He _glares_ at you, glares and you don't care, tugging at the knots until they're secure. "What the fuck are you doing." You don't answer, sliding down his body again and pinning his legs with yours, pressing against his bucking hips and scratching red marks onto his chest.

"I told you," you growl before biting his neck, hard enough that he cries and jerks back but you continue your assault, sucking purple hickies to the surface of his skin, none of that gentle shit. "I'm gonna fuck you," you move your hands to his nipples, twist, hard, and even as he tries to pull back his erection jumps against you, "Until my name's the only thing on your lips." And he's bucking under you still, trying to escape and he's stronger than you but like this, he's powerless, like this he can't use all his strength but you can use yours.

" _Stop that,"_ you hiss and bite his chest. The skin almost gives way beneath your teeth (and you won't mar him, not like that, not yet) as you dig your fingers into the flesh of his stomach. You go down, down, lower still until his erection brushes your belly, brushes your abdomen and you dig your teeth and your nails into every inch of skin you can find.

"Asshole," he growls and you bite the inside of his thigh in retaliation, holding his knees down with both hands. You just want to mark him, scratch him and bite him until he's a red and green and purple mess and everyone knows who he belongs to. It's hard to mar his brown skin, harder than your unreal porcelain pale frame but it only encourages you to try harder, sinking your teeth and nails everywhere you can find and digging deep like you want to rip him apart and hang him from your ceiling. "Dave, cut it out," he tries again and it only makes you bite harder.

"Shut up," you say. He can complain all he wants but his cock is already drooling and you've barely touched him. He stays uncharacteristically quiet when you lap up the precum on his skin and mouth at his balls, and when you look up you see him biting his lip, trying to hold back all the sounds he wants to make and no. No, that won't do.

You undo your pants and shuck them and your boxers in one go, throwing them to the floor and moving up his body, pressing every bruise you've already made before rutting against him and pressing your lips to his. You work your tongue under his teeth, force his mouth open before kissing your way to his ear and he's still trying to hold back, still trying to muffle himself even as his hips twitch under you. "I wanna hear it, you little bitch," you growl before sucking the soft skin under his earlobe into his mouth.

He jerks and cries out under you and you basically pin his hips with yours, sliding your dick against his and feeling him pulse under you. "Yeah. Like that. I make you fucking scream don't I?" You bite the junction between his neck and shoulder and he's gasping, not even trying to keep it in anymore and you feel him harden against you-

You pull back and he lets out an indignant cry, pulling against his bonds and jerking his hips up to try and gain some control.

"Not yet," you tell him before bending over and fishing around under the bed, where is it, where is it, you used it two days ago-

there. Your fingers close around cool metal and when you come up he's still struggling, digging his toes into the bed and tugging at his restraints and "Jesus, Egbert, _stop that,_ " you snap.

"Easy for you to say!" He retorts before stilling, seeing the metal bar in your hand. "What is that."

You roll your eyes and deign not to say anything, pulling his pants off his ankles and throwing it to the floor along with yours.

"Dave, you're not bringing that thing anywhere near me." He's tense but he hadn't moved from his position, warily eyeing you and the spreader bar and he's so much like a startled cat you want to laugh.

And you do. "I'm not shoving it up your ass or anything. Relax, you douche." He deflates, and some of the tension melts out of his frame. "Oh my god. You actually thought I was going to shove it up your butt."

"Shut up."

"Dude." You pin one leg down, slip the hoop over his ankles and he's tense, he's so tense.

"Dave-"

"Just trust me, alright?" You meant for it to be lighthearted, teasing, but your voice is low and tense and – and he stills and looks at you and holds your gaze for a second before looking away and nodding.

"Alright." His voice is hoarse.

Cool. You slide his feet into the other hoop and – "Spread your legs for me." He blushes, a dark flush that runs from his cheeks to his chest but he does what you say and you slide it up, up until it it's at his thighs and it can't move any higher. "Good boy." You move up to kiss him and he sighs, relaxes against you because this is good, this is normal, this is something you're both used to.

He tenses again when you pull away and rummage in your side drawer, returning with lube and a p-spot vibe. "Dave-"

"What?" You drizzle your fingers and circle his entrance. You almost slip right in; he's loose, he's open, he wants you, wants you to fuck him wants you inside him but you don't push in, not yet. Let him stew. Let him know what his body wants, make his arousal and need even more evident because he needs you, he does, he does, even he knows although he won't admit it.

He bites his lip and releases it with a pop, squirming as he tries to not push down on your finger. "D-Dave, I'm not-shit!" He yelps when you slip in and stroke his inner walls, and he's tight and hot and dry and he's sucking you in, that greedy bastard, he opens up for you so easily and you stroke his prostate, stroke again and he whines, an obscenely loud sound and he's already loose enough for you to work another finger in, damn.

"Not what?" You curl against that spot and he _keens,_ throwing his head back and jerking his arms. "You're so fucking greedy, jesus," and you work another finger in, spread them and he's squirming under you, trying to get closer and away at the same time – "shit, if I didn't know better, I'd say you practiced."

This isn't enough prep, not even close to enough but he'll love it anyway, you know he will. You slide your lips over his cock to distract him as you slather lube on the vibe and pull off as you press it against him and flick the button that makes it buzz to life.

He opens his mouth in a silent scream, body jerking and you just. You just go to town with it, dragging it over his prostate again and again and he wails, a purely animalistic noise as you hold down his hips. "This. This, man, this is really fucking gay, right here." You press against that spot, hard, and his whole body twitches, thighs shaking as he tries to move his legs. "Look at how much you love this in your ass."

"Shut the fuck up, Dave," he manages to gasp out, ending in a moan as you slide out the vibe.

"No," you scoff. "I see what my voice does to your dick." He's twitching all over the place and so hard and thick when you squeeze him in your hands. You reach into your drawers again, take another vibe out, white and way thicker than the first one you used. You make sure he's watching before you practically drown it in lube and shove it in him again, immediately switching it to its highest setting and he throws his head back and _screams_ as you press it against his prostate and just keep it there.

"Fuck," he chants, "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," as you take your hand and fondle yourself, squeezing your own cock because it's too much too much god you want to fuck him.

"No one else knows how to touch you like this," you say, your voice low. "C'mon, tell me how good it feels."

"Nn, god," he groans as he shifts his hips, and you're impressed he can still talk.

"Don't hold it in." You know he can be so much louder, so much better and you dig your nails into his hips, drag angry stripes down his skin. "Scream for it. Scream for me, you little bitch."

"Dave," he groans. "Dave, Dave, _fuck,_ I want-"

"What do you want?"

He opens his mouth and shudders. "Please, please, oh god, please," he chokes out, voice rising in volume.

"That doesn't answer my question." And his arms are shaking as he squirms under you, shaking with want of grabbing you, of dragging his nails down your back and you shudder as you watch him come apart under your hands. "Do you want my cock?" You ask. You'll give him this small reprieve this time.

You won't be so nice again.

He nods frantically, eyes hazy and mouth open and wet and oh so inviting but you hold back. Not yet, not yet. "Let me hear you."

"Please," he whispers, and that seems to be the only word he's capable of saying but it'll do, you'll take it because you need it, need it as much as he needs you and you're so aching hard god you just want to fuck him until he's screaming your name.

You carelessly pull out the vibe and he jerks under you, cries out at the loss. You don't give him time to dwell on it; almost immediately, you line up and push in and he's so hot and tight and wet and he's still chanting under you, "Please, please, Dave, oh god…"

"I'm the only one who can make you scream and beg like a ten dollar whore." You bend over, pin his hips to the mattress with one hand and tease his slit with the other and he's just jerking and writhing under you, trying to move but he can't, you made sure of it. "Can't do jack shit, bro." It takes all the self-control you have to keep your voice steady because he feels so _good_ around you, you'd fuck him forever if you could. "Have to take whatever I give you." You move your hips, purposely not aiming for his prostate.

He sounds like he's having an asthma attack, trying and failing to drag air into his lungs, ragged little gasps as he tries to move, tries to struggle even after all this. "Fuck," he whimpers as you move again. " _Fuck,_ " as you barely brush the spot where he needs you, needs you the most.

"Beg for it," you say and even you're surprised at how fucking predatory you sound, squeezing his cock in one hand and holding him down with the other and moving your hips in, out, in, out of that wonderful heat.

John sucks in another breath and lets it out in a sob. "Please, _Dave,_ hnngh…"

You slow your thrusts. "Call me papa." You would've thought he'd learned by now after all these times but apparently not. That's okay, you can teach him, drive the lesson into him over and over again until he learns.

He leans his head back, bites his lip. "Please, p-papa," and look at him, he's a mess, such a beautiful mess, dark skin littered with marks and scratches.

You thrust a little closer to his prostate. "Please what?" And you're being a douche, you know it, but you don't give a shit. He brought this onto himself and you're not going to give anymore because you're tired of reading his signals and second-guessing your choices.

"I-I need,"

"Yeah? Keep going." You're going to drag it out of him, make him articulate every thought, every word he's never said, every time he wants and wants and you took the initiative because like _fuck_ you'll let him do this to you again. You can't keep guessing and guessing and guessing, can't constantly follow in his shadow and bask in any scrap he throws at you and he needs to just fucking come to terms with it already, he needs to accept it and you won't let him yank you around anymore.

(but you will, you will, you love him you love him you do you do you do and it's so easy for you to fall to his whims, so easy for him to tell you what to do without even trying and you're killing yourself, you are you are but he's addicting and sweet and acrid and you can't tear yourself away)

His throat works in a swallow and he clamps his mouth shut, red flushing his face. He's embarrassed, he doesn't want to say anything but you're not putting up with that shit anymore. You can practically smell how turned on he is, how much he needs it, the heady scent of his precum mingling with the smell of sweat in the air.

You thrust again, aiming for his prostate this time. "Say it, you little bitch. Tell me how much you need it."

"Ffff—" He bites it back down, bites his lip so hard it bleeds and arches his back, trying to show you in actions, trying to keep silent.

You stop thrusting and move just a little, on this side of teasing, and lean over. "Come on. No one'll hear but me."

His eyes are wide and needy, lips bitten and glossy as he stares at you, panting. You hold his gaze, stilling completely and he lets out a low moan.

"Fuck me," he breathes and slumps back, all the tension melting out of his body.

You grip his hips and start moving again, in and out, in and out. He wails, head thrown back and body pliant as you drive into him over and over again. "Fuck me fuck me fuck me please fuck me," he's chanting, voice getting louder and louder and he needs this, needs it more than he'll ever admit. "Fuck me fuck me papa _fuck me,_ " and groans as he comes in thick white spurts, jesus you've never seen him come so much in his life.

You don't stop even when he clamps down around you, so tight and warm and hot, you keep going, fucking him through his orgasm, through his aftershocks and he's yelling and jerking under you, begging you to stop, "Dave please I can't I can't-" but you know him, you know his body and he's hard again in no time.

And he's beautiful, gorgeous like this, pliant and submissive under you and willing to give give give and you'll take, you'll willingly take because he has all of you and you barely have half of him. You lean down, lap the blood from his lips and kiss him over and over again, licking his lips and his teeth and his mouth and you don't even ask, don't even beg and just plunge in and he _lets you,_ he lets you take whatever you want from him.

You groan against him as he bites your lip and come in him, hard and fast and it's not cathartic, it's not soothing, it still leaves you angry and wanting and you want to kiss him until he bruises and hurt him in all the right ways.

He whimpers when you pull out, whimpers at the loss. You graze your fingers over his cheek before looking down and fuck. Fuck. "You look so pretty with my cum dripping out of you," you murmur, and he replies with a desperate gasp.

Moving down, you sink over his dick and he jerks his arms again and god you love feeling him under you like this, love feeling him writhing as you suck his dick and you know he wants to bury his hands in your hair and drag you close and fuck your throat until you choke and gag and he'll still hold you down, force you to take it.

But he can't, and you use your free hand to your advantage, squeezing his base, his balls, smoothing down his twitching thighs and pinning them to the mattress. You pop off and smile at him, leaning against his hip. "Not yet, Daddy."

He twitches beside your cheek, and when he looks at you, his eyes are hazy and wanting and he's not even trying to articulate anymore. You lean down, tease his slit with the tip of your tongue. "Well?"

"Don't make me do this," he whimpers.

You pause. You see how tense he is, how every muscle is defined under his skin and you broke him once today, broke him a million times over the past ten years and it's still not enough, will never be enough. You're almost tempted to give up.

(your heart breaks a little because you'll do anything for this boy, tear open the sky and the earth and walk until your feet are blistered stumps and you don't want to hurt him, that's the last thing you want but you _have_ to, have to make him face this, have to make him see, not only for him but for you and you hate it hate it hate it, it's so selfish of you, so self-indulgent to want to force him to see it but you're dying, you are you are and maybe it's okay to give yourself this one small reprieve.)

He hides his flushed face by turning it into his elbow, tense, so tense, and you reach up, glide your hands over his shoulders and his chest and his stomach. "No." Your tone is absolute, no room left for argument because you promised, dammit, promised yourself you'll do this.

He lets out a miserable moan and you know how hard it is, how it physically pains him to think about it and you're pissed but you still _care_ and you're irrationally angry with yourself when you nuzzle his hip, try to assure him with actions, not words because you can't show weakness, not now. You open your mouth, licking his dick from base to tip, base to tip, over and over again and he's moaning above you, small, stuttered moans that're nothing more than a plead for help. "Come on daddy," you murmur, never taking your mouth away from him. "Tell me what you want."

"Please, please, please," and that seems to be his mantra, the word he falls back on when he wants something but doesn't know what but you can dive past the layers, find every meaning, every word he doesn't say, doesn't let you hear. Please make me cum please don't do this to my feelings please keep me safe please don't do this please don't do this please don't do this.

But you have to, you do because all he does is run from everything that complicates his life, run from everything that disturbs his perfect view of the world and he needs someone to drag it out of him, someone to force him to face his demons because as much as he thinks otherwise he can't run forever.

You tease his foreskin, run your tongue over every inch of his cock but never the entire thing at once, treating it piece by piece and you know he's about to come apart and he's still begging, still chanting, "Please please please please" beneath you and you want to give him everything but he has to earn it first.

"Please what?" You ask, voice low.

He lets out a ragged sob. "Please touch me," he whispers and that's good, that's better but it's still not what you want.

You shake your head. "You need to say it."

He whines. "I-I can't-oh god, Dave, _Papa,_ " as you suck his balls into your mouth, encasing them in a warm wet cavern.

"It's just me, I'm the only one who's gonna hear." He's practically having a panic attack, gasping for breath with tears streaming down his eyes and body twitching everywhere and he's gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous and flushed red not only from arousal. "Tell me what you want," you say and he's worrying at his lip again, opening and closing his mouth several times before looking away, fresh tears beading in his eyes.

You work at him, nibble his hips and his thighs before mouthing the head of his dick, making him cry and rock against you. "Tell me what you want," you say again.

"Papa-"

"Tell me," you say.

"You," he says through his tears, voice surprisingly soft and husky. "You, you, please, Dave, fuck, I need you." His voice cracks near the end and he's so sincere, stripped bare and flayed before you and you did it, you got through to him.

You sink your lips over his dick and he immediately cums down your throat, letting out a ragged cry. You take him all the way to the base and stay until he's done because he deserves it, deserves it for being such a good boy and facing his inner demons.

(you're so proud of him)

When you pull off, he's shaking and looking at you with this unreadable expression on his face. Fuck, you wrecked him, reduced him to a shaking mess and you're trembling too when you slip the bar down his legs, off his ankles and throw it under the bed. You lean over and untie his restraints, hands lingering over John's head, unsure if you can touch him, unsure if you _can_ touch him after what you just did.

 _Fuck it,_ you think and hug his head to your chest. He wraps his arms around you and you're ninety-nine percent sure he's not fully aware of what he's doing. "Shh," you whisper. "Shh, shh," and work both of you down until you're lying next to each other, his arms around your waist and yours buried in his hair.

Eventually, he starts breathing normally again. "So can we talk about-"

"Still not talking about it," he grumbles, and you bite back a retort because at least he's acknowledging it, recognizing the fact it's there.

You bury your nose in his hair. "There's more to life than Gay and Not Gay, dude," you murmur. He tenses and you wrap your arms tighter against him, refusing to let go. "So many possibilities out there, so many," and you're tired, you're babbling, you're not making any sense. "Don't deny it so quickly, at least – at least give me a chance, please."

He's silent, but at least he's not struggling, and you bury your face in his hair, cling to him like he's your lifeline and you're both icky and gross and tired, so tired, more tired than you've ever been in your life.

You fall asleep to his soft breathing, and wake up to an empty bed.

\-----

tentacleTherapist [TT] opened a private memo VERY IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.

TT: Forgive me for my intrusion.  
TT: It is not custom to procure the status of 'guest' by inviting oneself into someone's home.  
TT: I believe it is common courtesy to alert the owners of a house when one decides to visit.  
TT: Or owners of an apartment. It doesn't really matter.  
TT: Regardless, yes, I will be, as my darling brother Dirk "Bro" Strider so aptly put it, "Crashing at your place like a two-dollar hooker" for a week.  
TT: See you in three days.  
ectoBiologist [EB] has joined the memo.  
EB: what.  
turntechGodhead [TG] has joined the memo.  
TG: what


End file.
